


Y por fin volvere a verte

by septiembre



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, post-season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-10-01 20:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20398048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/septiembre/pseuds/septiembre
Summary: Beth moves on in the aftermath of that night and makes sense of a reappearance.





	Y por fin volvere a verte

**Author's Note:**

> CW for Beth's particular brand of difficulty with processing stress & trauma. Canon-typical anxiety, alcohol use and lack of self-awareness/compassion. Our girl needs therapy!

After Rio came back and came for her - after, he was seemingly fucking resurrected - things became more difficult that Beth could have imagined.

She never intended to kill the king.

She never intended to perpetuate this medieval, fucking scary bullshit that was Rio’s whole vibe, his crime boss MO. 

She can’t even remember that night. It lingers at the periphery, and she can almost glance scenes of it frozen and blurred. One moment: it’s three in the morning and the gun is scalding and infinitely heavy in her hand. There’s the tightening of his jaw when her betrayal registers, and there is a blossom of red at his heart.But then, it’s dawn. The heat of the golden gun is gone, and she can’t feel her body, except that it’s heavy as she comes to in the middle of her kitchen. She is teetering on the chasm of something. She wants to sink, to disappear, to self-immolate, to never be seen again but she comes to in the kitchen where there are four faces she would know anywhere staring up at her from behind their breakfast dishes. Guilt curls through the tips of her hair, feels heavy on her skin, registers through the shock enclosing her sternum. This moment wants to complete a pattern etched deep inside of her, but she is not _her_ mother.

It is the worst twenty-four hours of her life, but she pushes it deep inside and she forgets.

* * *

She goes about her life, about her business, and she finds new ways to wash cash. New ways to funnel her love of baking and crafting. In those first few weeks, she can’t not smile at how _good_ it is. She was always out of step in Rio’s kingdom, as he had shown her again and again. But, Beth is smart, sharp, and quick on her feet. Last year’s lectures echo in her plans, her schemes, and it is shockingly easy to find collaborators in her work, partners to sharpen up the design of the bills, new friends to help her market the business, and her storage inheritance gives her the boost she needs to rent a kitchen space. The dessert catering business launches, new money begins to be laundered, and little by little their handful of clients becomes a deck.This time, Ruby, Annie, and Beth take the lion’s share of the profit. They have a six-month plan.

More time passes. The year before haunts her nights, that night lingers at the edge of her vision. Things are _good_. Dean’s custody idea doesn’t crash and burn.Their condo is a two-bedroom unit ten minutes away from the house and it’s small but comfortable. The quality of the appliances in the kitchen grates at her soul, the refrigerator leaks and the oven’s convection setting is broken. But it’s nice and it makes sense. But, it continues to remind her of their first apartment, when they were in their 20s and when she adored him and almost loved him. The nostalgia loses its’ charm.She realizes that she is now picking up after her ex in two houses.Slowly, this knot of anxiety - of being divorced, of change, of that first reaction to dig her heels in and fight for the house - loosens.They proceed with the divorce, he officially becomes her ex and holds on to their family home in the suburbs. With resignation, she moves the things she’s decided to keep into the condo.

One Saturday she meets Annie and Ruby for brunch off of Woodward in Midtown. These days, Beth knows that she’s the only one whose heart is really in the business.But, after a drink or two, it’s like a year before, when they would get together every week to talk about the Bachelorette or rewatches of Sex and the City, and she’s no one’s boss. When things were a dumpster fire, but they had each other.When Sarah was sick, Ruby pulling doubles, and Annie dealing with that piece-of-crap at every shift. When she had realized Dean had hacked at the foundations of their life, the security of her children’s lives, with a sledgehammer.When all three of them were so broke, and they were rich in their love.It’s a sunny morning, and Ruby’s bringing up some kid from high school she hasn’t thought of in years, and Annie’s making her laugh orange juice and champagne through her nose. And Beth’s heart feels fullest it’s felt in months. 

Buzzed and feeling flush, they see a sign for an open house for a newly renovated loft space. There are balloons on a sign that has bolded words advertising numbers of bedrooms and luxurious finishings.They go in.It’s the furthest thing from the new construction Beth prioritized years ago for her family. The space was built in 1914 and was built as part of a compound for a film production firm in the early part of the 20th century.It’s airy, sunny, and impervious to clutter. The kitchen has stainless steel appliances, a six-burner stove, an oven perfect for testing out new recipes for bakes and cash, and beautiful subway tiles as the backsplash. It will take some configuring but there’s room for her, the kids, and then some. What does it say about her life that this is her choice and she can pay for it in cash?

She moves out of the condo, and the days continue on. One industrial kitchen space becomes three. Beth manages their business contacts and Ruby and her’s relationship has pivoted from best friends to work wives. After a late-night re-tooling a sample batch of their product, Beth wakes up with her cheeks wet, and a heavy sound swelling in her throat. The dream is mostly gone. But, the precise color of a deep crimson blooming clings to her thoughts and she’s _sobbing_. It’s the dead of the night, Beth realizes it was Ruby who woke her and curls into her embrace. When the intensity of the feeling quietens, the questions resurface.Ruby asks again about what happened that night - where Rio had gone. But, it’s frozen in her throat. She still can’t put that scene back in focus. 

“He’s gone.” It wobbles out, and it’s not enough for her friend. 

“Beth, please, be honest with me.” She pauses. “Did he hurt you?”

Their eyes are linked in the dark and Beth can’t control her face.

“No”, she whispers.

“Where did he go?”

Her lips tug sharply at the corners. There is a ragged breath that doesn’t do enough for her and then another. She tells the story, that limited version she can handle, and she’s crying again. She had the worst day of her life, and it then it got worse. He kidnapped her. He kidnapped Turner.She’s in pain and her conscious takes a sardonic tone that resembles too much of his cruelty, “Rio kidnaps Beth and Turner and there is one gun and three bullets between them. Want to take bets on who shoots who?”

“Sweetie, it was self-defense.” 

The feeling in her chest is so tight, and she has to gulp down air. Ruby’s squeezes her close and urges her to focus on slower breaths.It’s nearly dawn when they’re able to find sleep again. But, the red dream returns the next night, has lingered every night since.

* * *

They hit the six month anniversary of launching their business.

Ruby sits Beth down for a serious conversation about getting out of the game and Beth knows she’s right. It’s what’s best for her friend, best for her sister, best for her. But, Beth spends the slow minutes of her day fleshing out what a one-year, five-year business plan could look like and she does the bad thing and convinces Annie and Ruby to stick it out with her until their next major payout. Then, the next one.

After another late night of burning the midnight oil at the bakery, she goes to wash her face and get ready for bed. She shrugs out her clothes and stills at the sight of herself in the mirror.

Beth is no longer a housewife, no longer a Boland. She is still a mother of four. She is now a successful criminal. She is proud to be making her own money, in more ways than one. She’s forty-two.

She takes a deep breath and her eyes trace the fine wrinkles etching into the bridge of her nose, and at the corners of her eyes. She’s had the dream four times this week and a bruised color under her eyes is part of the way she looks at forty-two. There’s coloring at her shoulders from the bra she was wearing that day and under her breasts from where the underwire digs in. Annie always joked that Beth’s skin was luminescent, that she glows in dark, but tonight, this month, this year, it’s sallow. Her hair is long, past her shoulders for the first time in a decade. Her ends are uneven. Her chest feels heavy, hollow and bones ache.

She resolves to go back to her old hairdresser and makes the appointment the next day.The cut turns into a consultation for coloring.Later she turns on trashy reality tv and tries on that brown wig again for Annie and Ruby.They browse different dye jobs on the salon’s instagram. After much deliberation, she keeps most of her length and chooses red.

* * *

It’s been eleven months since the night.

A handle of Evan William’s Black Label appears at their main production kitchen and more at the two additional kitchen spaces they had expanded to.

There’s another left on the counter at Dean’s.

She has no clue what they are and her heart feels like any moment it could beat out of her chest.Beth immediately distances herself from her kids and switches over to daily phone calls. Kenny is at a stage when he whines every time she summons him to the phone, but Beth perseveres through. 

A bottle appears on Ruby and Annie’s doorsteps, and Ruby is over waiting for the right moment and is purposefully revisiting the conversation about quitting the business every day. Annie keeps her company the nights Sadie is with Greg, to make sure she isn’t alone at night. In between dreams, she impulsively buys a package deal of security cameras off of Amazon at three in the morning and installs them in all the kitchens the next day. She’s mulling over how to broach the subject of security cameras with Dean as she checks the mail for her apartment and sees a new package. It’s addressed simply with her first name and the handwriting is one she would never mistake. There are Rs written into the Es of her name. It is messy, a little too on the nose, and only one person would ever think to do it. 

She slams the door behind her and turns the deadbolts.The package is light and she can’t throw it on the counter, away from her, fast enough. She checks the latches at the window by the fire escape, checks all the latches even those open to a six-floor drop, just to be safe.

She picks out a knife from the block in the kitchen - she still can’t bring herself to even think about purchasing a gun - and investigates every shadow.Trembling, she lays the knife on the counter and pours herself a double. The glass shakes in her hands and she racks her brain, thinking of who- who would know this? Who would know something this intimate? Annie, Ruby, and Dean all saw the bottles, too. She isn’t actually insane. And she refuses to believe in ghosts.

She steels herself and brings the knife to open the package.Inside sit a string of pearls she had bought herself years ago.

There’s cotton in her ears and her pulse is racing. She allows herself half an hour of sitting in a ball at the foot of her counter,jumping at every noise from the street, from her neighbors below. Then, she rises and returns to the storage units at Gratiot and Mack for the first time since that night. His things are all gone. 

* * *

It’s the year anniversary of the night. 

Beth goes about her day as normal as she can. She avoids looking at calendars and focuses on all of the ridiculous updates Annie is sharing about her latest conversations with Nancy.That night Sarah has a play at school and Beth insists that Ruby go. Gregg and Nancy have a thing that comes up, and Annie ends up heading over to pick Sadie up. Beth assures Annie and Ruby that she’s fine, reminds them of the cameras,and resolves that she’ll call them before bed. While she intellectually knows that it would be better for them to keep her company, she wants time and space where she can feel privately.

She sinks into the couch, nestles into the blanket and the throw pillows, and focuses on breathing. At eight, there’s a knock on her door, and then the security doorbell she installed at the door rings. Her phone buzzes in response across the room. Ruby would just be getting out from the play and Sadie and Annie would have just ordered dinner. Neither had texted to say they were coming over. 

It’s the anniversary but Beth had confidently dispelled company from her loved ones for the night because she truly hadn’t expected anyone. She hadn’t allowed herself to expect anyone. Because she killed him. Because if she hadn’t killed him, wouldn’t she already be dead?

Beth forgoes checking the phone and tiptoes up to the door.She checks the peephole, and the staticky, white noise is in her ears. Her vision creeps in at the edges and desire to collapse into the door is overwhelming. All that exists is her shaking body, the solid door, and the ghost on the other side.

There’s a soft sound through the door, maybe his body coming to lean on the other side. It’s muffled but she can still hear the voice that echoes in her dreams.

“Surprise.” He lingers on the second syllable and she hears the version of him from the night he shot Dean. “Ma, open up it’s me.” 

His voice is unmistakable to her forever, always, and his register is at a purr but she can hear the command corded through.Neighbors eavesdropping would think he was her boyfriend. Casual to outsiders but in Beth world the earth has opened up to personally swallow her whole. And, more than that, there’s also a staggering _relief_ punching straight to her gut.

Tears sting at the corner of her eyes and she compulsively swallows the shallowest breath of her life. He knocks again.

“Open up, darling.” His tenor lingers on the last syllable.

Beth unlocks the deadbolts and opens the door.

* * *

Immediately, she meets his eyes. His gaze is heavy, magnetic as _always_. Her vision creeps in again and she sinks into the support of the door. The world is still small and there is nothing but him, watching her.There’s a soft-looking hat tugged down low over his ears, and he’s in a plush coat with sharp lines, dark jeans. Without needing to fully look she knows his sneakers are spotless and expensive. Her gaze focuses on the hint of collar peeking through the coat. She can’t make out the nuances of his chest.

In his hands, he’s holding a bottle of Evan William’s and a large paper bag.

“You’re not going to invite me in?” A year ago it would have been a tease. It occurs to her that she’s going to die tonight.

He holds up the bag. “I brought take out.” 

She realizes the air in the hall is rich with the smell of curry, and would-be deliciousness. She hasn’t eaten this evening and she thinks she will never have an appetite again.Beth hasn’t moved to invite him in, but he’s already back in her personal bubble. There is a current between all the places they don’t touch and the bird of prey tattoo is at eye-level, less than a foot from her face.She registers the scent of his cologne and her eyes rocket back up to his.He’s watching her. 

She understands his threat. She knows why he’s here. She had killed him in an apartment just like hers.Her neurons are firing and there’s a quick thought that maybe mutual antagonism is just what happens when they’re in a setting with exposed brick around and lofted ceilings. And while it’s always been the fight end of the flight or fight spectrum when it comes to him, she isn’t really feeling that type of adrenaline right now.The universe has opened up to show her grave, and there are fear and relief, and her mind is centered on the thought that she needs to ask him to take off his shirt so she can see. 

Or beg him to never be naked, half-naked, shirtless of any kind again. At least not now, not in the last few moments she’s alive. Not if he wants the pleasure of killing her with a gun. Because otherwise, she will surely and finally self-immolate in the burst of shame. She feels a deep need to cry and cry and cry, but he always respected her most when she was brave.

They do a little waltz, a graceful pivot and she’s still at the door, but she’s closed it behind her and he’s inside her apartment.

“Elizabeth.”

The syllables settle deep in her chest. To say that she’s out of practice with this game is an understatement. In fact, she can now acknowledge that she was never as good at it as him, but she takes a deep breath and does her best. Deep inside she’s known for weeks that this night would come, for a year she’s dreamed this conversation could be possible.

“Resurrection, Rio?” She can’t help the tremble on his name. She thinks it’s the first time she’s said this one to his face. She decides that tonight she’ll give herself a break on this, just this once. 

That humorless smile pulls at one end of his lips and then the other. Beth notices the sharp edge of his teeth, then her gaze returns back to his chest. She’s never seen this black coat before. It’s heavy enough to fight off the late fall weather outside, but not thick enough for the dead of Michigan winters. She wonders if it was something he took out of the storage unit or if it was _new_ new. There are bracelet ties at his wrists still, the same rings on his fingers. No new lines on his face. You wouldn’t even know. 

A beat. 

She tries words again. All that comes out is, “How?”

The prompt hangs suspended in the air and the smile sharpens. “So concerned about me all of a sudden, ma?”The smiles drop and his eyes widen with that faux-surprise. He brings up his hands to the side of his chest where she shot him. “I’m touched.”

In a removed sort of way, she observes that it cuts her up a little bit. She hadn’t realized she had the capacity for more hurt.

Rio pulls his shoulders back. She can see the gun flash in his pocket as he turns and heads to the kitchen. He places the paper bag on the counter and reaches in. He takes out several containers of curries, rice and a package of aluminum foil that is probably storing naan. 

“Sit.” He juts his chin at her table.

With some hesitation, she moves to her usual chair. He serves himself a plate. “You hungry?”

Beth shakes her head. He settles at her side. She’s quiet, he’s eating, and halfway through his plate he says, “There ain’t nothin you want to say to me?”

He looks at her over the piece of naan in his hand, as she stares at him. And she’s sorry. Deep in her bones, weary sorry. She is so sorry that she will be sorry for the rest of her life. But, _god_, does she remember why she shot him. 

She tries to say it. “I’m- I’m sor-”

“Nah.” He shakes his head, waving the bread in a circle. “There ain’t nothing else you want to say to me?”

She stares at his chest again.

“How’s business?”

She expels a breath, and can’t help but quirk her lips. “Booming.”

“Of course. You usin’ my cash?”

“At the beginning, yes. But, not anymore. We’re profitable.” 

He nods the way he used to do when he was impressed with her. And wow, it’s been a year and there’s is so much between them always and it’s incomprehensibly painful now, and still, his praise lights her up.

She continues. “I can give you what we took from the storage unit. I have it. And I can cover what Ruby and Annie lost.” It’s all she can do and she loves them, and she owes him, and she needs to leave things right for them if she’s going to die tonight. 

His eyebrows raise, and he scrapes the last bit off his plate.

“It’s nice to be king, ain’t it?”

There’s a poignant second where she almost feels scalded by his anger.She swallows and reminds herself she’s not going to cry until this is done one way or another. Beth steels herself, “Why are you here?”

“Just wanted to drop in for a meal with my old partner. Break bread. You sure you don’t want any?” 

“No.”

“Aight. I’ll wrap it up for you.”

Rio moves through her new space with all the same intuitive confidence as before. He packs up the take out containers and puts them in her fridge. He opens the bourbon, locates her glasses on the first try, and pours them both a drink. 

She gets up and meets him at the counter.Her body is tense, adrenaline has been rushing through her veins since the doorbell, and she has the sensation of her chest feeling overly full. She realizes that he’s looking at her. And that’s okay because she can’t stop looking at him. Her gaze is drawn to every inch of him, most of all the part of him obscured by the coat he still hasn’t taken off. She wonders what he sees. His gaze lingers on her hair and she wonders at his flexing fingers.

“You ain’t gonna beg this time?”

Her gaze locks to his.Beth shakes her head. “Didn’t you tell me that I have to kill the king to be the king?”

“I did.”

“Then, I deserve what’s coming to me.”

“You do.”

But, he doesn’t immediately move to take out his gun. Instead, Rio puts one of the glasses in her hand and then takes a sip from his own.

“You’re gonna cut me in until I decide when this lil’ arrangement has run its course.“

She blinks and shuffles for footing.

“Strapped for cash? I already told you I can repay you now.”

“And you will.”

“Ri_o-_” She scrambles for words. “This is _mine_.”

“Built on what you took from me. I thought we were 50/50.” He’s quick, pithy and exacting as always.

Emotion surges in her. “I thought so, too. Except you-” And she can’t go there right now.It hangs knotted between them, but she can’t rehash the conversation that night, can’t rehash him kidnapping her, rehash him framing her. It’s all so terrible, almost the most terrible, but not as terrible as what she did to him. She eats her words, though she can tell he knows what was on the tip of her tongue. She hates him again and is sorry, so, so sorry and it’s all twisted up inside her.She wants to sleep for a million years. She wants to run away.

A beat passes.

He raises his glass.

“A toast.” 

She waits for his cruelty, knowing to expect at least this much.

“To being back in business?” He offers.

She grits her teeth, remembering who ghosted on their work last.

“Or maybe…” He quickly looks away grinning to himself, before casting his eyes back to hers. “To new beginnings, ay partner?” His voice curls around the last word.

Maybe it would be better if he actually stabbed her. The look on his face makes her think that he knows it. 

He brings his glass to his lips and motions for her to do the same.

She does. She hadn’t allowed herself to try the bourbon yet, during all these weeks they had been appearing across her life.It’s excellent - smooth and flavorful - as it descends to the pit in her stomach.

——

**Author's Note:**

> Well, folks, this is my first fic since highschool. Be gentle and wow, this show really has a hold on me. This fic was born out my need to process the finale. Now that it's out of the way, here's hoping I can focus on lighter things! 
> 
> You can chat GG with me on Tumblr @septiembur. 
> 
> Title from by Un Año, Sebastian Yatra & Reik. If only B/R were like a Reik song.


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